


Babysitting the Future

by bsc



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (i'm drawing partly from my own experiences for this), babysitter chara, bpd chara, disabled frisk (they have cerebral palsy), genderfluid frisk (aka theyre 5 they have no concept of gender), goofy au, i use they/them pronouns for both but frisk doesnt have any particular preferences for pronouns yet, no charisk bc theyre literally children sorry, nonbinary chara, they might change their mind as this goes on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 01:40:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8081695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bsc/pseuds/bsc
Summary: 5-year-old Frisk falls into the Underground, hurts their ankle, attempts to make friends with a homicidal flower that they're convinced is a very-high tech toy, and wakes a dead kid by having a near-death experience. It's a hard-knock life. And it'll only get worse.





	

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: so hi!!! i'm not much of an author, and i sort of decided that this au would be better if i created a blog for it and drew it!!! i'm just posting what i Did write so far to see if ppl like the general idea????? pls don't hesitate to tell me ur thoughts!!!!

_Thud!_

An oddly placed bed of golden flowers instantly becomes the tan-skinned fallen child’s security blanket. They feel around it, smoothing the velvety petals between their index finger and thumb. A peculiar energy emerges around and within them as they touch the flowers, so they stop abruptly. Folding their hands in their lap, they just sit, dazed. At no more than five years old, they’ve fallen about one and a half metres down a strange hole into what already feels like a completely different world. Straight onto their bottom.

A moment later, the mental haze from the fall dies out, and the pain sets in. They cry out for help, tears quickly pouring over the brims of their eyes like mini waterfalls. The high-pitched plea rings out nice and clear, echoing around the dark, cold, drab room.

...

...

But nobody came.

The child realises that they are alone. Still in a fit of shaking, hiccuping, and sobs, they attempt to wriggle their ankle that had twisted from tripping up on a vine on the surface. Surprisingly, it does not hurt that much, and the sight of their own tiny foot wiggling in their sheer black tights makes them giggle. They notice they’re missing one of their soft brown booties. Collecting themself, they stand up, brush off stray dirt particles and grass from their clothes, and scan the room for their missing boot.

They spot it in almost a perfect diagonal line across from them. They move over to it slowly and quietly, as though they feel it might rear up, bare teeth, and bark at them if they make just one movement too sudden. It doesn’t. They pick it up, still exercising the same caution. It’s still fine. The boot slips on with a satisfying noise, encompassing the lonely foot with its lost warmth. In a finalising motion, the child wipes both of their watery eyes and drops their arms to their sides, the now old tears sinking into their cosy, striped blue and pink jumper.

The child feels brave enough to leave the room.

\---

It’s finally time for the small child to explore the rest of the strange area in which they have found themself. Their soft boots drag against the floor from how much weight they are putting on their feet. They actually feel a lot less afraid than they did before, but they struggle to keep their body from reacting. They feel the ache from their knees about to lock in place. They ignore it. Taking a deep breath, they take a stride and reach the end of the mini corridor. Two pillars with a round-arched frame on top of them is a welcome architectural feat to send the child off into the next room.

They run their fingers over the edges and gaps in the pillars for a short while before moving on. They are comforted by the new texture.

They step through the arch. They are ready.

The child frowns. Yet another dark room. Unfortunately, even darker than the previous. With a conspicuous, clean, rectangle of grass with perfectly rounded edges before them, reminding them of the golden flowerbed they had landed on in the previous room. Who maintains this place, and how did they get flowers and grass to grow inside? The little child is extremely confused. They have never seen something like this. But they are starting to consider it normal already.

A smiling flower pops out of the grass, making the child jump. They attempt to smile back at it until it stops smiling. It doesn’t stop. The child struggles to keep maintaining eye contact. They look down to their feet without meaning to. 

...

A beat of silence. 

Looking back up, the child wonders if the flower is a toy. Cautiously, they take small steps closer and extend a hand out to it.

“Howdy!” The flower practically yells suddenly. “I’m Flowey! Flowey the Flower!”

The child stumbles back. They decide to sit, dropping down rather quickly. Their legs are getting rather tired and shaky from holding up their weight now. Especially with all these loud sounds tripping them up. They feel like crying, but, surprisingly, they stay calm. They assume that the obnoxiously loud talking flower toy could be a potential friend. 

Flowey talks a lot, teaching the tiny human something about souls and love. They don’t hear about half of it, since they get distracted by the exit behind Flowey, but they’re sure they share Flowey’s sentiments.

Now they are playing a catching game of sorts. Finally something that the impatient child can get behind. They stand up for this. Their hand eye coordination is… questionable, but they love to play! The child notices Flowey pulls a funny face when they ask them to catch the friendliness pellets. They are not sure what that means, so they try to catch them anyway. 

They miss. They’re very disappointed in themself.

Flowey looks irritated. “Hey, buddy. You missed them.” They change their demeanour and voice to sound sweeter. “Try again, okay?”

Another batch of friendliness pellets flies at an alarming rate towards the child’s soul. The child misses again. Innocently, they realise that they are a lot better at dodging than catching. So the third time, they purposefully duck out of the way with a big grin, even though Flowey yelled at them to catch. All of the hopping around and playing made the child’s hair fall into their slanted eyes, so they push it up with their hand and peer at Flowey. They wish they didn’t.

Flowey looks significantly more horrifying behind the eyes, and their kind albeit quite off-putting smile has turned into a jagged, twisted, evil-looking grin. “You know what’s going on here, don’t you?” Flowey questions in an even more spine-tinglingly shrill tone than usual. The child shivers. “You just wanted to see me suffer.”

A perfect circle of friendliness pellets – or rather, bullets, as Flowey ended up admitting out of anger – begin to enclose on the child’s soul.

“Die.”

Flowey’s demonic laughter sounds like a mix between a witch’s cackle and a young boy going through puberty. Horrible. The child’s eyes snap shut on instinct. They can feel the bullets edging closer, and Flowey’s laughter fades into intense white noise. Their knees buckle; their heart races. Their last thought before their death is that they should have played the game properly. This is the end.

\---

Chara wakes with start, gasping and eyes widened. What a strangely long and intricate dream… Witnessing a child fall down into the underground, the same way they did, all those years ago. Just to die at the hands – leaves(...?) -- of a murderous flower? Chara can tell that they will not forget this dream. But… wait…

Why were they dreaming at all?

The dead can’t escape from the real world any more than they already have.

Where were they? Were they… alive?

Chara brings their eyes to focus and takes a quick look around while they are still lying down. Yep. Within a millisecond flat they know that they are still in the Ruins. And, by extension, still very dead. They sniff. That subtle sweet smell… Smells like the feeling of home. Belonging. They are smelling the golden flowerbed they were buried under, of course. But now they are above it. For Chara, this means it’s time to take the initiative to find out the truth.

Who… or what, brought them here?

Was it that child?

Who was that kid? Was it just… themself? Were they remembering something?

No… Chara knows for certain that they have never encountered a creepy flower like that… Or wore a jumper in those colours…  
Despite this, it is becoming hard to distinguish this “dream” from their past life’s memories.

Who can even say what’s going on right now?!


End file.
